Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust
by Prime-Minister-Holmes
Summary: 221b Baker Street has been witness to a fire. The very livelihood of the crime-solving duo is put at stake when John comes across a strange watch that speaks to him. Is Sherlock hiding something? Does Sherlock even know what he's hiding? Doctor Who X-over. (Johnlock- don't like it don't read it)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who**

The boxes were stacked upon one another without regard to the precarious foundation of rotting wood. Dust swirled in the breeze drafting from a cracked window, several insects crawling lazily across the pane. I could hear the pattering of footsteps on the floor below, hesitating at the start of the stairwell, debating their own desire to ascend. Questioning the sanity of their will.

A completely valid concern.

Sherlock was in a practically vegetative state, sprawled listlessly across the charred remains of the couch.

I was a time bomb. An explosive sensitive to the gentlest touch. Volatile, and ready to erupt.

If you came within ten feet of 221b, you could smell the smoke. Know the aftermath of a horrid disaster. Feel the hundreds of memories curling and falling with a lick of flame.

There had been a fire.

It was not caused by the numerous experiments carried out by one of its inhabitants. Not by the oven, carelessly left on by the forgetful landlady. Not by the lighters spirited away by the friend concerned for his companion's health. (that's me)

It was done by the simplest, most obvious, blatantly mundane thing ever encountered by the flatmates and their dearest landlady. Electrical fire. The lamps had been on all night due to a rather pressing case involving a missing child.

"The insurance money had better be good," Sherlock intoned quietly from his place on the sofa.

"Darn right." I agreed.

"It won't be enough to repair the flat though…" the detective spoke with a melancholic note.

"No," I growled, tugging at the hem of my jumper in annoyance.

"What're we going to do?" he said this more to himself than to me, "I'm sorry John." _Is Sherlock Holmes apologizing!?_

"What for?"

"Everything, the case, the lamps, everything."

"Don't be, mate. We'll pull through it, we'll find a flat somewhere else, we'll still solve crimes, it'll be fine."

"Don't lie to yourself, we're broke, we've nothing. Nothing but the clothes on our backs," Sherlock sighed and threw his arm over his eyes.

"Perhaps you could maybe ask Mycroft…"

"John you and I both know that that possibility is completely off the table. Going to my brother for help would be a final surrender into this oblivion," he laughed humorlessly.

"That was a bit dramatic, even for you."

"Whatever." There was a timid knocking at the door, and Lestrade took an even more timid step into the room. He was fingering a small light pink slip of paper.

"Yes Greg?" I asked, with perhaps just a tad too much malice.

"It's just, um, well, sorry about, well," he gestured to the room, "about the place, I, uh, Mycroft is, er, here, and he wants to speak you both."

"Why would Mycroft want to speak with us?" Sherlock snapped, shooting off the couch and into the burnt kitchen. I sighed and recrossed my legs, and gestured for Lestrade to continue.

"He wanted to discuss compensation from the warehouse the lamps were purchased, as they did carry a fault, and that, um, he is worried," he ran a hand through his graying hair, "Everyone is." With that, the Detective Inspector left the blackened shell of the place I called home.

Mary had stopped by with a change of clothes for me she had purchased, well, Mrs. Hudson had given them to me, but I knew Mary had bought them. The woman still cared, even after I moved out to go live with my sociopathic detective best friend that blows up the kitchen and keeps feet in the crisper as a pastime.

"John?" Sherlock asked, his voice breathy with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"Yeah Sherlock?" I replied, swiveling my head to better see him.

"Should we take up Mycroft's offer?"

"It's your flat, your brother, I'm not of much importance in this decision," Sherlock fixed me in a scalding glare.

"Of course you're important, it's _our_ flat, it's _our_ problem, Mycroft is practically _our_ mother!" the raven haired man insisted, kaleidoscope eyes begging for- something.

"Okay, okay, in my opinion, it would be a good idea to accept Mycroft's money," I paused at the sight of Sherlock's face, which was crumpled into a rather nasty frown, "_but, _you can still have a say in the matter, let's just go down and see him, yeah?"

"_Fine _John, we will go see him, but only because it was your idea," he gave a petulant huff and stood to his full height, looking instantly put together and perfect in his dressy trousers and bloody skin-tight purple button up.

"Good, I don't think you've moved since yesterday."

"About right, though, you have been in that chair since yesterday as well," he pointed out.

"Well that is because I slept in it, and it is only nine in the morning, you, my friend slept on the couch for two nights, and only got up yesterday at six AM to check on your violin."

"Ugh, same difference John."

"Rather weak argument, don't you think?" all I got in response was an eye roll and a head shake. We descended the stairs to be met with one of Mycroft's patented disdainful smirks.

"It lives," he muttered, pinning Sherlock in a judgmental stare.

"Shut up Mycroft, go stick your nose in someone else's business," the detective muttered, crossing his arms. The elder Holmes just gave a long suffering sigh and looked down at his useless umbrella.

"Yes Mycroft?" I said, breaking through the somewhat tense silence.

"Now, I am willing to lend a hand after this," he waved his umbrella at the upstairs, "disaster. I can lend you a sum of money to sufficiently pay for everything necessary while 221b is being repaired."

"Why would we ever want _your_ money? Will we have to send you quarterly reports on our mental and physical health?" Sherlock scowled at his brother, the purple bags lining the underneath of his eyes made him all the more menacing, "Oh wait, what was I thinking! We wouldn't have to tell you BECAUSE THE ENTIRE FLAT WOULD BE DECKED OUT IN SECURITY CAMERAS!" Even Mycroft looked a bit surprised at his outburst, shooting me a concerned look that I returned.

"Sherlock, mate, calm down alright?" I frowned at my friend's obvious discomfort. Mrs. Hudson stuck her head out from the kitchen.

"You alright dears?" she asked, dishwashing soap dripping off gloved fingers. I simply nodded, waving a hand at her, before laying it on Sherlock's shoulder.

"_God _John, I'm fine!" he spat, pulling away from my touch.

"My offer still stands…" Mycroft injected, decidedly eager to get back on subject. I gave Sherlock a pleading look, silently asking for permission I didn't need. He jerked his chin in subtle response.

"Yeah, okay Mycroft, we'll take it, no strings attached?" I agreed.

"Lovely. Rest assured that a flat will be found for you before the day is out," and with that, the British government strolled from 221b, swinging his brolly and humming an eerie tune.

"And good riddance," Sherlock murmured, already climbing the stairs back up to the flat.

"Hey," I called after him, "Pack up all of your, er, remaining things, I've no intention of making your brother wait."

"Very well."

I jogged up the stairs and up again into my room to search for anything salvageable. I found a few pens, three books, a slightly charred pair of jeans, and, and a _fob watch_. I picked the little trinket up, turning it over in my hands. One side was covered in a strange circular design, and the other blissfully blank. It, it hissed at me, sweet golden light peeked from inside, and strange, muffled voices whispered all around me. I was seized with the sudden urge to click it open, to find whatever was hiding inside of it. Inhaling deeply, I pressed my thumb over the latch, and the watch sprung open.

**Whadaya think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Massive thanks to everyone who reviewed, it really motivated me to type a bit faster.**

Brilliant tendrils of light curled out from the watch, spilling over the edge and twining around my fingers. They kept growing and growing and stretching and reaching, until they filled the entire room. The light crept down the stairs and without thinking, I followed it. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, I saw watched, transfixed, as the light moved towards Sherlock, who was facing the wall and tuning his violin. Just as it came within a hairs breadth of my flatmate's shoulder, I snapped the watch shut, and the light disappeared.

"Yes John?" the detective mumbled, still sawing away at his Stradivarius.

"Nothing, nothing…" I whispered, looking down at the cold metal timekeeper.

"Did you collect anything salvageable?"

"Yeah, I'll go get it," I turned around and exited the room possibly a bit quicker than necessary.

An hour later Mrs. Hudson arrived home from visiting with her sister, her arms laden with suitcases and grocery bags. By some miracle, I coaxed Sherlock into helping me assist her with settling back into her relatively untouched flat.

"Oh, Mycroft called and told me what happened dears," the kindly old woman patted my cheek, "I hurried home quick as I could, is it that bad?"

"I'm afraid so," I gave a wan smile, "It's okay though, we managed to save a few things." She only nodded and looked towards Sherlock, who was sorting the shopping in the kitchen.

"Is he okay? I know how much this flat is to him."

"He's Sherlock Mrs. Hudson, we probably won't know until it's too late," I answered somberly, glancing over at him.

"I know, but, he really is like a son to me, just as you are dear, I don't want him getting into trouble," the landlady sighed, wringing her time-gnarled fingers.

"No one does, that's what we are here for, me, you, Mycroft, Lestrade, we're here to keep him safe," I assured, "I'll make some tea, yeah?"

"That'd be sweet of you John; I'm just glad Mary's there to keep you safe." I swallowed, not welcoming the mention of my estranged wife, but managed a tight smile and padded into the kitchen.

"Er, where does the jam go?" Sherlock asked, looking confusedly up from the icebox.

"Shelf on the door, left side," I replied, filling the kettle up with water from the sink.

"Good, good, and what about the celery?"

"Bottom drawer, on the left."

"No, that's where the small body parts go, such as toes, fingers, and eyes," Sherlock admonished.

"Just put it there alright? Not everyone fills their fridge with bits of people for experimentation." He huffed, but did as told.

"John, are you okay?"

"What?" I turned to face him, "'Course I'm okay. Why do ask?"

"You seem, a bit, distracted," the raven haired genius stated in a rare show of concern. I shrugged, and returned to preparing tea.

By the time the kettle boiled my day was officially ruined. Mycroft dropped by to say that he had found us a flat, but that it was very scarcely furnished, meaning that it contained no bed, one couch, an arm chair, a toilet, a and refrigerator. That's it. But that it was much less than expected and we could probably use the money left over to fully repair 221b.

While all four of us were sitting in Mrs. Hudson's flat sipping at our tea, the doorbell rang again.

Mary. Lovely.

I stared out at my wife, her light and tasteful makeup, cute pixie-cut hair, sweet smile, adorably large eyes, and disgustingly gruesome past in which she earned her way as a murderer. Ah, domestic bliss.

"So, I hear you've found yourselves a new flat?" she looked down at her shoes, as if doing so would spare her the shame of reality.

"Yes," was all I said in response.

"That's… nice. Y-you know you are always welcome back at my place, I do have a-"

"Would you mind if Sherlock came too?" I cut off, crossing my arms in challenge.

"Well, ah- you see I-I've only, um, that might not work out b-because…"

"Exactly," I moved to shut the door.

"John please!" Mary insisted, wedging the tow of her shoe in the doorway, "Please come back to me! God I love you so much, John, _please_!" My stomach felt warm with the knowledge someone out there who cared that much.

"Mary, you lied to me, you lied, and you lied, and you lied," I reasoned, already familiar with the fact I was not going to give in.

"Sherlock lied," she breathed. Too far.

"Don't you EVER, EVER try to bring that man down to your FILTHY level, Sherlock lied to SAVE me, and you lied to DECEIVE me, so if I EVER hear you say ANYTHING that would in any way tarnish him, I will kill you," I answered honestly, fists clenched at my sides. Mary's shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I lied because I love you, can you say the same for him?" She sauntered off into the wet London weather. Still fuming, I slammed the door and stomped back to Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Mary, I presume," Sherlock intoned casually with a sip of his tea, much too casually.

"Yeah, it was Mary," I spat, slumping into an armchair.

"Trouble in paradise?" Mycroft asked, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

"Yeah," I gulped down the rest of my tea, scorching my throat in the process.

"What's the problem dear?" Mrs. Hudson took my hand.

"She just, she, she just can't grasp the fact that she isn't welcome," I bit out, squeezing her hand.

"It'll be okay, you'll work it out eventually."

_What if I don't want to? _I thought grimly, looking over at Sherlock, and found him staring straight at me with those strange gray-green eyes. My heart sputtered and stopped before starting up again at a quicker pace.

We finished our tea quickly, the conversation having failed soon after my return. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson took the tea tray and cups to the kitchen and I held the door open for Mycroft.

"Goodbye Mycroft, we will surely be checking out that flat soon," I said stiffly.

"Yes, good, John, what do you have in your pocket?" the elder Holmes inquired, glancing down at my jeans. Confused, I pulled the pulled the watch out, and was flooded with the rush of impossible memories that came with it. Upon seeing it, Mycroft's eyes went wide and he snatched it from my hand.

"Where did you find this!?" he demanded, shaking it in front of my face.

"I dunno' upstairs? What's so important about it?"

"John, there is too much too explain about this for one day," he frowned, pocketing the watch.

"Then give me the short version," I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes, daring him to defy me.

"Short version, Sherlock and I are aliens from a dead planet hiding on Earth to escape a number of extra-terrestrial pursuers. I trapped Sherlock's consciousness in this watch because he would not be able to keep the secret."

"What!?"

**Hahahaha. Next chapter Mycroft will be giving the full length explanation. Do not fear, more Who will be introduced in future chapters. And Johnlock will be coming.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Once again, thanks to-**

**sherlockedbyben**

**Raineh14**

**And 2 Guests for reviewing. It means the world to me. I do not own Sherlock.**

I stepped out of the car and onto the damp pavement. It was well into the night, and the moon was shrouded by dense gray fog. The Diogenes Club menacingly before me, crisp white exterior glaringly obvious against the backdrop of night. Of Mycroft would think that the Diogenes Club was a perfect place for a chat. The place where talking and acknowledging other people could get you expelled.

Nevertheless, I pushed open the door and shambled quietly to where I knew the arrogant sod would be waiting.

"Ah Doctor Watson, so good of you to make it," Mycroft called from further within his office, sipping at a glass of bourbon.

"Yeah, there is a rather lot of explaining that needs to be done," I urged, taking the seat across from him.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, I would like an explanation."

"For what I'm explaining, a drink would be beneficial," he handed me a glass with about an inch of amber liquid sloshing around the bottom. I raised an eyebrow, but took the glass.

"Yesterday, you told me that you and Sherlock are _aliens_, from a different _planet_, running away from other _aliens_. Please elaborate upon that answer."

"Do you remember when I said that I trapped Sherlock's consciousness in this watch because he couldn't keep the secret?" Mycroft pulled the watch from his pocket.

"Um, yeah," I agreed, grasping at the slightly vague memory.

"That was a lie, Sherlock was entrapped for a different reason."

"Why then?"

"As you may have gathered, Sherlock and I are not actually brothers, he thinks this, knows this in fact, but it is simply a well-placed lie that would tie him to this planet," he paused to sip from his glass, "Sherlock and I were indeed rivals when we were both in our true form, and some of that has bled over into his life as a human."

"Yeah, I understand that, but why did you take away Sherlock's consciousness?"

"Mycroft and Sherlock are not actually our names, we acquired them twenty seven years ago when I brought him to this planet-"

"Twenty seven years!?"

"Timelords do not age the same as humans John, I for one have just celebrated my two-thousandth birthday," he smirked, "Though, since Sherlock was human, I used one of his stolen regenerations to regress him back to being only five years old, thus he is fit and young. All of his memories before that are manufactured."

"What about his parent's, who are they?" I demanded, becoming more and more lost with each passing second.

"They were my, er, companions, at the time," he glanced up at my probably horrified looking place, "What, no no no, it wasn't like that. So I meddled with the DNA records forged a few birth certificates, and voila, my friends are suddenly my parents and my greatest rival their adoptive child."

"You do realize that you sound absolutely, stark raving mad right now," I quipped, and took a sip of bourbon, only to find that the glass was already empty.

"Fully aware, what else would you like to know?"

"What were your real names before Mycroft and Sherlock?"

"A rather sensitive subject, I cannot tell you my _real _real name as it is a secret, and I do not know Sherlock's. But, our common names were the Doctor and the Master."

"Which is which?" I asked, _such common names for such ambiguous creatures._

"I was the Doctor, and Sherlock was the Master."

"Ooh, did you battle in an epic saga across the galaxies?" I snarled, much past the realm of believing whatever Mycroft was saying.

"I just wanted him to quit his shenanigans and join me," the British government sighed, draining his glass.

"Was he the evil one then?" I rolled my eyes.

"You could say that, and the only way to stop him was to trap him in the watch, turned out rather nicely don't you think? You have really helped him turn a corner."

"I do not believe a word you are saying, it's absolutely ludicrous!" I exclaimed, setting my glass down on the table beside my chair.

"Then I will prove it."

Then there was a strange, wheezing noise, and a faded blue box appeared in the corner of the room. One of the doors swung open and out stepped, well, me.

"What the-" the other me breathed in perfect synchrony with my own thoughts. Another Mycroft joined the second me outside of the box.

"Just proving the point," Mycroft 2 stated, "He comes around." The actual Mycroft nodded, and the pair of doppelgangers retreated back inside the box and disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived.

"What was that!?" I half screamed, gesturing wildly at the place where the box had stood.

"You, and me, that bit was _rather _obvious."

"How were we there, when we're here!?" my head ached with the overload of new information.

"Follow me John, we're off to see the TARDIS." I dashed after the slightly pudgy man as he lead me down a winding hall into an almost empty room. In the center, sitting on the plush maroon carpet was the blue box in all its infuriating glory.

"Is this the _TARDIS_?" I pointed at it.

"Yes, T-A-R-D-I-S, stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space," he pulled a key from his pocket, "Not to brag or anything, but it can travel anywhere in time or space."

-oO0Oo-

Sherlock shivered in his dressing gown. Where had John gone? It was one o' clock in the morning and the blogger was always a fan of sleep. The detective was sitting in front of the window watching the street preceding their new flat.

Without John, Sherlock was completely and utterly lost. Sure John had been absent before, but least his destinations were discussed or deduced with ease. This was new, and Sherlock had nothing to on, so he waited in the painfully under furnished flat for his very best friend to return home. His very best friend, and the object of his unrequited affections.

**Critiques welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Fair warning, my updating schedules are a little bit erratic. A new chapter might show up an hour or a week after the previous one. I am kept very busy drinking tea and doodling on my homework. **

**A big thank you to everyone who reviewed, you guys are the best.**

**I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who.**

For the first few minutes, I just stared, dumbfounded, at the large azure rectangular prism standing in front of me. A testament to my own ignorance. Not that my mind needed any more blowing today, but I had the slightest feeling that this thing was legit. Random bits of improbable trivia floated through my head, refusing to sink in.

I had learned:

My flatmate is an alien who's real consciousness lives in a watch

My flatmate is an evil alien hell bent on world domination

My flatmate's older brother is an alien

My flatmate's older brother isn't really my flatmate's older brother

My flatmate's older brother travels through time in a wooden blue box

My flatmate does not any of the previous facts

Mycroft put his key back into the pocket of his waistcoat.

It was also impossibly large, _on the inside_. Just looking at it, it seemed like some sort of retro DIY projects, but as soon as you take a look at it's interior- massive and alien and strange and beautiful.

And it hummed. The TARDIS hummed. It hummed when Mycroft touched the controls, it almost _purred_, as if it was alive.

It later transpired that the spaceship was indeed alive.

The elder Holmes had dashed around the center console, displaying a level of agility I had not known he possessed, flipping and pushing a seemingly random combination of doohickeys. The cavernous room shifted suddenly and Mycroft held fast to the console, not bothering to remind me to do the same.

After picking myself up off the floor, the alleged Timelord waved his hand at the door. Pulling it open, I had had the greatest shock of my life, and it was myself. I had been standing there just like I was five minutes ago.

"What the-" I muttered, my eyes roving every facet of the room, searching for inconsistencies or evidence of fraud. Finding none, I resigned myself to the reality of the situation. Mycroft did indeed own a time machine. But I wasn't completely sold on the whole alien thing.

"If you're a 'Timelord', then how come you look human?" I tested. He only rolled his eyes and sighed.

"God, it's Amelia all over again…"

"What? Who's Amelia?" Mycroft waved away my question.

"You look Timelord, we were there first," he hovered in front of a strange monitor displaying an assortment of statistics in a different language.

"Okaay, so do you still travel around through time and space?" I asked, leaning against the cool metal railing.

"Egad, no. This regeneration has a very pronounced distaste for _legwork_. My universe saving days are over."

"Regeneration?" If my eyebrows went any higher they would come off my face.

"When a Timelord becomes injured, or old, or sick, we regenerate into a new body," he said, much as one who was simply assessing the weather.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying it."

"Come here John," he beckoned me over, "Show me you wrist, the one you sprained on a case three days ago."

"Why?"

"Just do it," he grasped my forearm and placed his hand over my wrist, "Keep still, it won't hurt."

Mycroft's hand started to, well, _glow_. Gold light sprouted from his palm and surrounded my hand. After a few seconds the light receded.

"Take of the wrapping," I nodded and pulled the gauzy fabric and flexed my wrist.

"I-it isn't sprained anymore!" I felt around the area, the swelling and redness was gone as well as the pain, "You can just do that at will?"

"Yes, but I prefer not to, it wastes regenerative energy, though I guess I won't be needing it since I was grounded," he sighed.

"I had best be getting home, it's late," I glanced down at my watch.

"Yes, Sherlock will worry."

"I bet he doesn't even know I'm gone."

"Oh he does…" Mycroft murmured opening the door to the TARDIS and letting me out. Frowning, I left the Diogenes Club and hailed a cab, anxious to return home.

-oO0Oo-

The moment I stepped into the foyer of the new flat, I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet the be the home of a Holmes.

There was no violin music, no explosions, no quiet mutterings or gunshots. Nothing. With growing anxiety I stepped quietly into the 'living room'. Sherlock was there, in front of the window curled into the fetal position.

"Sherlock are you okay?" I question, kneeling down in front of him. He lifted his head and stared at me with ever widening eyes.

"_John_," he breathed, uncurling his long, gangly form.

"Is something wrong?" I put my hand on his shoulder. He looked over at the wall and let loose a cough sounding strangely like 'Not anymore'.

"Did you have a good time with Mycroft?" he intoned, trapping me in his silver eyed gaze.

"Er, yeah, I guess it was _interesting_," I choked out dropping my hand and standing up.

"He does tend to have that effect on people," Sherlock snarled, snatching my hand and pulling back down to the floor.

"What?"

"Give me your wrist." I gulped, but extended my arm in his direction, "This was sprained when you left, but now there are now traces of swelling, bruising, or discoloration. Quite a premature recovery if I do say so myself." He traced skeletal fingers across my skin, leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake.

"It, er, got better…" I answered lamely, pulling my arm from his grasp.

"In three hours?" he admonished.

"Leave it alone Sherlock."

To my evident surprise, he did, shutting his mouth and leaning back against the wall.

"I assume you were talking with Mycroft about me then?"

"To a certain degree," I said cautiously, reminded of his previous self.

"He does constantly worry, god it's awful, what was it this time? My health?" Sherlock scoffed, scooting closer to me so that our knees touched.

"Your, er, well, um, your people skills," I finished, proud of my fibbing skills. (not really)

"My people skills are _fine!_ I have you John, why would I need anyone else?" he spat, crossing his arms like a five year old. I grinned at him.

"Aww, Sherlock I think you're going soft!" I teased, trying ever so hard to mask the blush rising to my cheeks.

"I am not! I was just saying that my personal needs are fulfilled merely by your presence- wait-"

"That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me!" I flashed a wicked grin, "Mycroft will be so pleased!"

"Oh god John, you know what I mean, now cease your driveling and make us some tea, I'm horribly thirsty."

"Anything for you," I quipped, gathering myself up from the floor and heading into the kitchen, thinking about my friend's real identity.

**Oh Sherlock is sooooo cute isn't he? Critiques welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Enjoy Chapter the Fifth. More Who coming up next. I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. (Mycroft is _totally _the Doctor, hahaha) **

Mycroft glared at the scanner, long fingers gripping the sides of the screen.

"Why? Why did you have to come back?" he growled, dark eyes boring into the glass. The TARDIS groaned with frustration. One of the dearest Doctor's greatest intergalactic adversaries previously thought to have been rightfully vanquished was back with a vengeance.

The pixelated image on the scanner held the countenance of a Cyberman.

-oO0Oo-

"Sherlock? Do want to go get breakfast this morning?" I asked, poking my head out of the near empty kitchen.

"Whatever pleases you," he replied, his voice muffled, likely due to the fact he had seven strips of gauze clamped between his teeth for an experiment.

"All we've got in the fridge are two eggs an orange and some," I pulled out one of the drawers, "eyeballs, it seems. Are they a part of your experiment?"

"Yes John, since all of my chemistry equipment was destroyed in the fire, I had to use the gauze from your first aid kit, and I got the eyeballs from the morgue while you were gone yesterday," he said matter-o-factly.

"Where do feel like for breakfast then?"

"Sorry?"

"Breakfast, Sherlock. I asked where would you like to go for breakfast." He stared at me as if I had sprouted a second head.

"When did you ask that?"

"Never mind," I huffed, grabbing my wallet from the countertop and throwing on my jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock queried, jumping to his feet and following me out the flat.

"To get the shopping, we've not enough food to make a real meal Sherlock, I'm just popping out for some milk and eggs," I shot him a weird look.

"I'm coming with you," he dashed back inside and remerged, Belstaff in hand.

"You hate shopping!" I protested.

"Maybe, but I need to stock up again on common household chemicals," Sherlock shrugged on his coat and knotted his scarf,

"I could just get those for you, you know."

"Whatever John, I see no point in dawdling any longer, I want to get this over with," he set off at a brisk pace. In the wrong direction.

-oO0Oo-

I had no idea why I thought for a minute, single, solitary second that grocery shopping with Sherlock bloody Holmes would be a mild affair. But of course, the entire trip was a meld of cruel deductions and petulant whines.

When we arrived, Sherlock's face immediately set into his signature scowl, which should have been my first clue. We got our cart and made it through the first two aisles with only a few halfhearted complaints. The real issues started when I spilled the beans. Literally.

Sherlock tripped over a misplaced wire and ran into me; I then slammed into a precariously stacked pyramid of baked beans, sending the entire structure toppling down. The metal canisters rolled off in every direction, causing the both of us to slip over their cylindrical shape and join the flatulence inducing legumes on cracked granite tiles.

"Oh, sirs are you quite alright?" the clerk inquired standing over us, his half-moon spectacles perched so far down his nose they threatened to slide right off.

"Absolutely brilliant actually, thanks for asking," Sherlock groused, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. The clerk did not seem to pick up on his sarcasm and smiled all the brighter.

"Lovely, do you need any assistance in finding anything?"

"No we're fine," I grunted, and got to my feet.

"Are you sure? Because I am here to help!" the clerk insisted, pulling his lips back even farther and displaying a shocking array of coffee-yellowed pearly whites.

"It's really alright, I am not in need of assistance," I assured extending a hand to Sherlock, who was still sprawled on the ground, he took it and sprung to his feet, fingers hovering at the inside of my wrist before pulling away completely.

"Are you _absolutely-_"

"He said he didn't need your help so go away and resume palming money from the cash register if you don't mind!" Sherlock exploded waving his hands in front of the clerk's frightened face, "Oh yes I know all about your little secret. Now run back home to your thieving pedophilic wife."

The clerk open and closed his mouth in a convincing impression of a fish out of water scuttled away.

"_SHERLOCK!_"

-oO0Oo-

We ended up being banned from that place for three years. It wasn't because we spilled the beans, or that Sherlock insulted the clerk, it was in reality a combination of chemical explosions (Sherlock), and excessive use of unbecoming language (Me).

Of course, blame me for letting Mr. It's-Just-Transport take a bathroom break. With his grocery bag filled with cleaning chemicals and filters. Apparently he was just going to 'test their effectiveness' in the sinks. All this came out after we were thrown to the curb. At least they were kind enough to check us out before so.

But naturally, our day was about to become all the worse.

For who was waiting on our doorstep like a lost puppy when we got home? Two someones actually.

Mycroft and Mary. My two favorite people in the world. (That was sarcastic)

"I have no desire whatsoever to speak with either of you right now," I snarled, pushing past them to get to the door, "And why didn't you just yourself in Mycroft? We know you have a key."

"Common courtesy Dr. Watson," he said all too cheerily.

"Oh, so _I'm_ the Doctor now, eh?"

The Timelord just rolled his eyes and ushered all of us inside.

"What do want Miss. Morstan?" Sherlock inquired stiffly.

"To speak with John, if you don't mind," she scowled up at the detective, her nose an inch from his. _When did things become so tense between them?_

"I might," he said in a voice so sinfully low it vibrated in my chest.

"Please, Sherlock it's okay," I pulled at his forearm, and too m evident surprise, he turned away, but not before shooting my wife a murderous look, "And what do want Mycroft?"

"The same as Miss. Morstan."

"Well aren't you the popular one today John?" Sherlock spat sardonically, before retreating to the living room, presumably to sulk.

"What did you want to talk to me about you two?" I asked, eyes flicking between the two of them.

"I shall let Miss. Morstan make her point first, as the matter I wish to discuss is of _sensitive_ material," Mary nodded her thanks, "And that I do not believe it a good idea for her to wait in the living room alone with Sherlock." He strolled casually out of the room.

"John I've already expressed this in every way possible, but I am truly very sorry for lying to you, and I want you back for than anything, I will do anything," she patted her bulging stomach, "Two more months until she arrives John."

I knew deep down inside that she was using the baby to get me to come around. But I didn't care at the moment.

"Come here," I whispered, opening my arms up to envelop her in a large hug. She practically jumped into my arms, squeezing tighter than I thought possible.

"Please move back in, it's so lonely in my flat," she half sobbed into my shoulder.

"Okay, I'll move back in," I promised easily, completely forgetting about my volatile flatmate for the moment.

"Thank you John, I love you," I just nodded my head and pecked a quick kiss to her forehead.

"See you later, love," I grinned, watching her leave, relieved to have that weight off my chest. I leaned against the wall of the foyer, giggling happily to myself. Mycroft poked his head through the doorway.

"I trust that she is quite finished?" he intoned, leaning heavily on his umbrella.

"Yeah come on in," I tried to look serious, bu that infectious smile kept creeping back onto my face.

"I see you have, what is the phrase, 'kiss and made up'?" the toothy smirk I was sure I was flashing him was proof enough.

"Alright, what is it Mycroft?"

"We need to open the watch."

"What!? But y-you said that-" I sputtered.

"I know what I said John, but the Master knows integral information that I need _right now!_"

"What kind of 'integral information'? About what?"

"About," he sighed, "About the Cybermen."

"What in heavens name are Cybermen!?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air with frustration.

"An old foe I used to fight back in my word-saving days, but they've upgraded themselves. They are in search of something that only the Master knows the location of and I need to find it before he does."

"What is it he's in search of?"

"A White-Point Star."

**Nobody likes you Mary! Quit jacking with my OTP!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Thirteen reviews! I am the happiest person in the world! Massively huge and incomprehensibly sincere thanks to-**

**Raineh14 (sorry for the whole 'Doctor debacle!) ;)**

**sherlockedbyben**

**IStalkMyFandoms**

**Taylor the Reader**

**And 2 guests.**

**Enjoy!**

I stared up at Mycroft dubiously.

"What-y huh now?"

"A White-Point Star, it is a rare variety of diamond found only on my home planet Gallifrey. Rassilon and his groupies sent one to the Master so they could latch onto it and come through the time barrier and survive extinction," his words barely made sense due to his quickening tone, "I really have to go, I will being the watch back tomorrow, the Master really is the only person who knows of its current whereabouts."

"Okay, okay, how will be convince him to help us? You said he was evil," I pointed out.

"We will have to think of something, I thought for sure that I shot it, perhaps it is a different diamond, come to think of it, it did shatter quite easily for I diamond… anyway, I need to go there is much planning to be done."

"Alright, soooo, what am I supposed to do?"

"Wait here, watch him, just what you usually do," he answered hastily, grabbing his umbrella and approaching the door, "Try not to upset him, or his last memories as a human would be tainted and his first experiences as the Master would be fury." I nodded fervently as the somewhat bulky fellow slipped out into the London air.

I cautiously creaked the door to the sitting room, only to find it completely devoid of its second inhabitant.

"Sherlock? Hello?" I called, peering into each of the rooms, and found him packing a suitcase in the area that served as my bedroom, "Sherlock what are you doing exactly?" He growled deep in his throat and zipped the.

"Just helping you pack," he snarled, shoving the black case into my arms with enough force to put me off balance.

"What are you on about?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your little conversation with _Mary_," he spat her name out like one would a sunflower shell, "And I thought that I could be of some assistance to you."

"What's with you and Mary?" I queried, regarding my companion with a cocktail of confusion and concern.

"Oh John if you're too thick to see it then you probably don't need to know?" he shook his ebony curls, "And I won't be able to take it anymore."

"Sherlock, tell me what's wrong, I want to help you!"

"BUT YOU CAN'T JOHN!" he bellowed, "You can't possibly help me… not this time." He whimpered somewhat pathetically.

"How can I know if I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong?" I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the floor across from me.

"I cannot in all honesty show you what is wrong without alienating you John," he sighed, "I am truly sorry, but it is best you go."

I blinked.

"What!? Sherlock please I am begging you, what is wrong? I want to help more than anything," I said sincerely, "For me."

His thin shoulders slumped and he hung his head in defeat.

"You are the one that asked for this."

That was all that was said before the great detective pressed his bowed lips to mine in chaste, but sweet kiss.

Fireworks.

That was all I could think during the few seconds we were locked in that comforting stance.

People say that when you meet the one, sparks fly.

This, this was a full blown wildfire.

And it was over too soon. Before I knew it, Sherlock had pulled away, staring down at me with huge, terrified eyes.

"Did you feel that?" he asked timidly. Instead of answering, I slipped my fingers beneath the lapels of his suit coat and pulled him into a longer, more passionate embrace.

After what felt like weeks, Sherlock pulled away and lay his head against my neck.

"I'm yours, John," he whispered against the tender skin. I frowned, thinking of Mary.

_I wish I could say the same._

**Sorry this one is a bit short, I wanted them to open the watch this chapter, but I also wanted to update today and I was really busy. In short, I am so sososososososo sorry and I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: FYI this fic is CLEAN! Thank you very much. But I do appreciate that all of you stuck around this long and you are all great. I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who.**

I buried my face into Sherlock's ample curls. He snaked his arms around my waist and rested his cheek against my clavicle. One of my hands was wedged beneath his arm and the other bringing his legs up to my side.

"I've really made a mess of things haven't I?" he said, squeezing me a little bit tighter.

"Yeah, a bit," I replied inhaling deeply and pulled him closer.

"What about Mary John? You're her husband and she's pregnant with your child, I'm so sorry, I've ruined everything!" he yelped, tugging at the sleeves on my jumper.

"Sherlock, I-"

"You have to get back to her! John you can't stay with me after everything I did to you!"

"Shhh," I calmed, carding my fingers through his hair, "I'll sort everything later, love. Relax." I placed a small kiss to the top of his head.

Sherlock was strange, he was contradiction within himself.

Take his personality, blunt and jerky, but undeniably passionate and caring.

Or his looks, striking, clear cut, but with a quality of ambiguity.

His fashion sense, eye-catching, and yet, one of the most common outfits out there.

Right down to the way he smelled (strong and powerful like spearmint gum and the comforting, but elusive, scent of rain) Sherlock was an enigma. And I wanted to know every inch of his great mind so that I could better understand the amazing creature.

And I loved it.

-oO0Oo-

By the time Mycroft arrived, Sherlock was asleep.

"Hmm," the Timelord grumbled, "I take it he _finally _told you?" he tilted his head towards his 'brother's' slumbering form, curled up on my lap, and cutting off the circulation to my legs.

"You could say that," I whispered, looking fondly down at my former flatmate.

"Well, it's time we get to work," he pulled the infamous fob watch from his waist coat pocket.

"We? What do you mean we? The Master is your space business, just open the watch and get it over with for God's sake."

Mycroft placed his thumb over the latch and furrowed his brow. After a few seconds of simply standing there staring at it, he relented.

"You do it John, as much as I am loathe to admit it, sentiment has gotten the better of me," he held the watch aloft for me to take. I raised an eyebrow but took it from him with the arm not holding the detective against my chest.

I took a deep breath, and before I could talk myself out of it, clicked open the watch.

The same light spilled from its center and twisted around my fingers. After a beat, it moved towards Sherlock, disappearing into his many facial orifices.

"Is it supposed to do this!?" I fretted. Mycroft only offered a grave nod as comfort.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and a devious smirk dominated the usually solemn features.

"Ooh, if it isn't good old Johnny Watson!" he exclaimed in a voice that was very much not Sherlock's, "It sure is great to be back huh?" He popped up to his feet and brushed himself off.

"Master we need your assistance," Mycroft cut straight to the point. Sherlock- or, the Master now, threw back his head and indulged in a throaty laugh.

"My my Doctor you've gotten fat!" he waved at Mycroft's stomach, "Though I suppose one misses out on their exercise when monitoring me for, what, twenty… seven years?"

"Yes, now, as to the reason I brought you back-" he was interrupted by the Master's index finger pressed firmly against the other's mouth.

"First of all old friend, _you _did not bring me back, Sherlock's school girl crush had the honors," he flicked his strange, unfamiliar eyes on me, "Oh how he _loved _you Johnny boy, you were really all that was bouncing around in that _mind palace_ of his, it was dreadful, but dear Lord it is good to have both hearts beating again. How do you humans survive on one?"

"Listen, er, Master, we need you to help us find the White-Point Star the Timelords sent you back, um, then," I propositioned, squirming beneath his piercing gaze.

"The White-Point Star? Why in heavens name would you need that? I thought you shot it _Mykey_," the Master smirked, in a grotesque display of the teeth that had been clicking against mine not too long ago.

"I did shoot it, but the Cybermen are after it and we need to reach it first!" Mycroft yelled, losing his patience with the greasy voiced Timelord who had reclaimed Sherlock's body.

"What do the Cybermen need it for? Not more deleting and upgrading stuff? Ugh, they always fail, why can't they just take a hint?" he leaned against the wall, "How am I supposed to help you? I pretty much _died _that day. Cut me some slack for god's sake."

"You must have some idea of where it would have gone, because it obviously wasn't destroyed," I interjected.

"Fair point Johnny boy," he leaned in uncomfortably close, his breath tickling the skin of my nose, "But I don't."

"Then how do the Cybermen somehow magically know where to look, hmm?" Mycroft snapped.

The Master shrugged.

"I'm supposed to know this, how? I've been trapped in a watch for nearly thirty years!"

I shook my head, "Master, so do you have any remote idea as the where the star is now?"

"I might," he flashed a cheeky grin, "But why would I tell you two?"

"We will give you _anything_," Mycroft stressed, "If the Cybermen get ahold of the White-Point Star, there will be no stopping them."

"Okay," the Master's grin grew even wider and even more mischievous, "I want the TARDIS."

**Is the Master too OOC? Do tell. Feedback has never been more welcome, my lovelies.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Chapter eight here we go! Thank you everyone who has ever reviewed or read, or whatever. I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who.**

**Dear Taylor the Fangirl, OOC stands for Out Of Character. **

**Enjoy my pretties!**

"No," Mycroft stated firmly, but his posture spoke of an apprehension his voice did not relay.

The Master pouted, "Oh _please_! It would make me oh so happy and much more likely to behave or cooperate," he goaded, tugging at his adversaries forearm.

"No Master, the TARDIS is all I have these days, I need her."

"For what? No offense but a government agent with unlimited power and massive influence isn't really in need of his old time machine is he? The navigation is shot, your Chameleon Circuit has been disconnected for _centuries _old friend. You've been stuck with a fixer-upper for quite some time and I would be delighted to take it off your hands," he explained.

"Mycroft, you know, you don't really use the TARDIS much, and the whole of humanity is kind of at stake here, just saying," I pointed out.

The look on his face at my saying that would have been freaking hilarious had the situation not been so dire.

"I knew I liked him, quite a bloke don't you think Doctor?" the Master draped his arm around my shoulders and gave a coy wink, "We should hang out."

"This is not up for debate, the TARDIS shall remain in my possession, anything else within reason you shall have," Mycroft reasoned, "Anything else."

"Anything else? Is that really true? What if I asked for, Earth? Or the Solar System? Or this body? Or your umbrella?" a shadow flickered across Mycroft's face, eliciting a small smile from the Master, "Or John?" he added on a slightly for serious note.

"What are you getting at Master?" Mycroft urged.

"I'm trying to say, anything that is of any value to me, is off the table," he pursed his lips in annoyance before the eerie grin returned with a vengeance, "So help me out, the TARDIS for the human race."

I could see the battle playing across the Timelords face as he weighed the benefits against the detriments. The Master tapped his blank wrist.

"We haven't all day Doctor dear, every second the Cybermen come closer to their quarry!" he reminded a bit too cheerily, already fully aware of his own victory.

Mycroft huffed a defeated sigh, and pulled a key from his pocket, "There you rampant swine, take it, but I want the information now."

The Master snatched the key and danced around the room tauntingly.

"Well?" I spat. He stood behind me and rested his bony chin on my shoulder.

"Patience is a virtue Johnny boy, and you have struck me as the virtuous type, do live up to your potential," he said, the words whispering against my ear.

"Get off me," I demanded, jerking away from his touch. The Master gave a look of exaggerated offense.

"If I remember correctly not an hour ago we were snogging like lovers my dear," he practically sang, stuffing the TARDIS key into his pocket.

"I was snogging Sherlock! Not you!" I exclaimed, ignoring the strange look Mycroft was shooting me.

"Semantics," he waved a dismissive hand, "I had this body before _Sherlock_ was even 'born'. He pretty much stole it from me! And I like this one too, blondie was a bit queer."

"Just shut up, your voice is honestly making me queasy, go bother some other poor soul, I've nothing to do with your space business!" I shouted, storming from the room.

Without thinking I grabbed my browning from the duffel bag still lying by the front door. You never know when you'll meet evil aliens out to get your planet.

When did I start having thoughts like that?

-oO0Oo-

By the time my thoughts slowed enough so that I could safely return to the flat, it was midnight.

Luckily, it seemed empty, so Mycroft and the Master must have cleared out, because any energy I had left to deal with them had leeched away along with the hours.

I hung up my jacket, packed away my browning, brushed my teeth, and basically completed every pre-bedtime routine on auto-pilot.

After snuggling into the nice and cozy cocoon of thin blankets on the floor in the absence of a bed, I slept a very much needed sleep, only to not do much sleeping.

_CRASH_

I jerked my head up from the painfully flat pillow.

"Who's there?" I called, crawling out of the blankets and inching towards the entry-way to the kitchen. I entered the living room to see a thin shadow emerge from the darkened corner holding the vase Mrs. Hudson gave us to spruce up the new flat.

"Sorry John, didn't mean to frighten you," the Master stated flatly, dropping the vase into my arms.

"What are you doing here? Didn't Mycroft cart you off somewhere!?" I yelled, furiously, "I cannot even believe you have the audacity to return!" He raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly John, I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, so, I'm just going to get to bed, yeah?"

And with that, the crazed extra-terrestrial being strutted off to the washroom.

What the…

The utter silence of the moment was interrupted by the chiming of my phone.

_I managed to get the information out of the Master and got the TARDIS back, Sherlock is back in his body. I also wiped his memory of the past week so he doesn't remember any of the messy, relationship related issues that have arisen today. Don't thank me. –MH_

I had to read the text twice before the information completely sunk in. And by the time that it had, there was another text.

_I could use the both of yours help with finding the star, as the information was, vague. Do not tell Sherlock the truth just yet, leave that bit to me. –MH_

_No, no, nonononononono. I am DONE with space business. DONE! _I told myself, though knowing, deep down inside, that when the black car pulled up outside the flat tomorrow, we would be in it.

**Sherlock is back! Yay! **

**Now, my updates may start to become few and far between come the start of school on August 13, you have been warned.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Hullo! Thank you for reviewing, yada yada yada, bla bla bla, you get the idea.**

**Dear IStalkMyFandoms, Yes Mycroft wiped the memory of them snogging. What a jerk face. **

**I own nothing.**

It was morning, and by the work of some defunct deity Sherlock Holmes was eating his breakfast. I hadn't even made breakfast, _he _did.

The scenario was so bizarre and unfamiliar I was simply shocked into silence, just sitting there, chewing my toast and sipping tea that the great Consulting Detective had stooped so low to prepare.

"So…" I choked out, "You made breakfast…:

"Yes obviously," he scoffed, taking another bite of toast.

"May I inquire as to the occasion?"

"Does there seem to be an occasion John?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, no, but you never make breakfast!" I reminded, poking at my eggs, which were surprisingly good and contained no detectable chemicals.

"I used to. There was a time before your coddling I hope you understand," he rolled his eyes.

Ouch.

"Even then I suppose you didn't make it every day, because apparently 'it's just transport'," I scoffed, probably more pleased than I should have been to find a hole in his claim.

"It is just transport, but you slept in and I didn't want to wake you," he stated calmly, but the glare he gave me was the 'Shut-Up-Before-I-Kill-You' one.

Unwilling to surrender so easily, I went ahead and pushed a little harder.

"You, _you_, made breakfast, _breakfast_, because you didn't want to wake me up?" I questioned, internally smirking at the flustered look on his face.

"Well, I, uh, you… you looked, a bit, er, you looked, so, so peaceful…" he snapped his head up to look at me, "And we all know how you get when not rested. It was purely for my own benefit that I prepare breakfast."

I smiled so wide I almost felt my face crack.

"No no no Mr. Holmes there is no backpedaling now," Sherlock gazed over at me, terrified, "Don't pull any of that 'It was purely for my own benefit' crap on me. You made enough breakfast for the both of us, because you thought that it would be nice if you let me sleep in! And you said I looked peaceful_. _You are cheekbone deep in blackmail material my friend, cheekbone deep."

Sherlock sighed in exasperation, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. I grinned wickedly, greatly enjoying the younger man's discomfort.

"God John, leave it be," he groaned, "I'm going to have a wash." He shuffled from his place at the table, leaving his half eaten food alone on its plate to grow cold.

"Oh, come on Sherlock," I called after him, "You haven't eaten in days!"

"Whatever John, I ate an entire piece of toast," he replied from the bathroom.

"Get back out here, you don't even need to shave! It takes you a week to grow stubble for God's sake finish your breakfast!"

A very agitated and disgruntled looking Sherlock stomped back into the kitchen and dropped into his chair, grumbling inaudibly to himself and taking an overly aggressive bite of toast.

"Happy now?" he growled around his food. I grinned.

"Yes, much thanks."

"Ugh…"

"Quit your whining and fill up, Mycroft want's a word with the two of us today," I said, pushing the salt slightly out of Sherlock's reach. (he has a tendency to go crazy with the stuff)

"About what? I was just with him yesterday!" he whined, "Stupid git doesn't know when to shut up."

"Well sorry, I'm not your older brother."

"No, that would be awkward."

"No kidding," I agreed.

The conversation lulled into a somewhat uncomfortable silence that mostly involved me sneaking glances at the detective.

_He really doesn't remember anything_.

I guess that should be a good thing, because now I can go live with Mary. I can go live with my wife and daughter without worrying about my attractive (I admit it) flatmate who is in love with me.

But he is still loves me, he just doesn't know he told me.

What a fine, fine mess we have made.

-oO0Oo-

An hour later we were sitting in the heart of the British government, watching it's controller pace the room mumbling to himself.

"Well Mycroft? What did you drag us all the way out here for?" Sherlock inquired, his voice dripping with faux politeness.

"There is a case is in need of your attention," he glanced over at his brother's flat expression, "It is a private case, not government, but it will need your full attention, and I mean it."

"Okay, go on," the younger man urged.

"A rather expensive and rare variety of diamond was reported missing, and we need to find with the utmost haste before a more, distasteful party manages to lay claim to it."

"Is there any other data that would help in our search?" I played along, feigning a look of confusion.

"A very close _informant_ of mine managed to give me a very ambiguous clue as to the diamonds' whereabouts," Mycroft explained.

"And what would that be?" Sherlock groused, glaring up at the taller man.

"It is in the form of a rhyme, along with a very general location."

"How general?"

"The planet it is located on," Mycroft continued carefully.

"I thought that bit would be fairly obvious," he quipped, checking the time on his phone.

"You'd be surprised…" I muttered. Sherlock shot me a confused look, folding his hands in his lap.

"I must agree with Dr. Watson," the Timelord smiled.

"Sorry what? If not Earth then what other planet could it possibly reside on? The moon?" he exclaimed.

"The moon isn't a planet Sherlock," I let a long-suffering sigh hiss between my teeth.

"Whatever, my point is, if the diamond has somehow been shot off the some other celestial body then how in hell am I supposed to retrieve it?"

"I just so happen to have a method…" Mycroft trailed off.

"Dear Lord if this is a joke the both of you will wish you had never been born," Sherlock growled.

"It isn't a joke," I confessed.

"Then what planet is it on?"

"The most insidious disgusting planet to have ever been conceived," Mycroft paused dramatically, "Clom."

**Ewwww. That's all this story needs, Abzorbaloffs.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I own nothing. But Tumblr owns me.**

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother's halfhearted theatrics.

"Clom? How thick do believe me to be? That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air.

"Sherlock, please calm down, we will explain everything in time," I laid my hand on his arm, ignoring the strange chills the seemingly platonic gesture sent marching up my spine.

"Not that we have an awful lot of that," Mycroft reminded, "But anyway, I think it's time we set off, the TARDIS can only bend our limited time so many ways."

"What are you talking about!?" yelled a very disgruntled detective.

"Patience, brother mine, all in good time, now follow me," he instructed, strolling casually out of the room, as if he wasn't just about to show his little brother the alien his secret time machine. We followed a bit slower, just so he wouldn't hear us whispering to each other.

"You know where we're going don't you?" Sherlock accused, leaning over a bit closer than would be considered decent.

"Oh yes."

"Are we going to fess up?"

"We'll be there in a bit Sherlock, you'll see."

"I hate surprises," he scoffed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his billowing coat. I smiled up at him.

"I know."

-oO0Oo-

Sherlock stared up at the slate gray ceiling of the TARDIS. His kaleidoscope eyes were blown wide with wonder.

"How is this possible?" he asked, his voice breathy.

"Ask the Timelords, you can visit them as soon as I complete my sealed universe jumping remote," Mycroft answered, already flipping switches an pulling levers.

"Hold on to something Sherlock, takeoff landing and flying gets a bit rough," I warned, seizing the railing with my right hand.

"Oh this magic box of infinite interior also happens to fly? My my quite a machine you've got yourself here Myke," Sherlock snarked, masking his evident terror with sarcasm.

"Careful!" the Timelord shouted around the console as he flipped the last switch and the TARDIS jerked into motion.

"AGH!" Sherlock screeched as he was thrown into my side. I lost my grip on the railing, and instead grabbed the lapels of my friends Belstaff. He landed directly on top of me, and the two of us, (prepare for cheesy line stolen straight from every crappy romance movie you've ever watched) locked in each others arms slid across the polished floor of the TARDIS.

We slammed into the cool iron bars a the far end just as Mycroft landed us.

"That was quite amusing," he smirked, towering over our interlocked forms.

"As much as I hate you right now, I probably would have paid to see it," Sherlock snarled, removing his hands from their clamped positions at my waist.

"Right there with you," I agreed, relinquishing my hold on his precious coat.

"Hmm," Mycroft hummed, before opening up the doors to the TARDIS and peering out into what should have, by all means, been a storage room in the Diogenes Club.

"Are we there? Are we at, what was it, Clom?" I called, staggering to my feet and walking over to the door.

"Yes, yes we are..." Mycroft replied distractedly.

"What?" Sherlock exclaimed, "We're at your magical made up planet _Clom?_ Even I know that isn't real."

"It isn't real?" the taller man questioned, "Then how are we here?" He pushed he door open the rest of the way revealing the vast wasteland of the planet.

"Oh God, th-that isn't f-fake... how on Earth did you manage to fabricate such a place? And so quickly? We were only in your box a minute!" Sherlock braced himself against my shoulder, "This can't be real! It can't!"

"It is, so I suggest you get over yourself and follow me to the rendezvous point, there is a certain someone who is planning to help us along our way to retrieve the White-Point Star," Mycroft ordered, stepping briskly out into the squelching mud and gaseous air of Clom.

-oO0Oo-

Soon enough there was a break in the marshy plain. But, naturally, it didn't come until we were all thoroughly coated in bog water and dirt.

"Surely in that box of yours you have some goulashes or anything better suited for trekking like this?" I wondered aloud.

"I do, actually, I just haven't been to Clom in several centuries and, er, _miscalculated_ the atmosphere," Mycroft grumbled, clearly disappointed at having one of his best suits ruined.

"_Centuries!?_ What do you mean _centuries!?_" the poor detective fretted, his mind already bloated with impossible knowledge.

"Er, it's a time machine, the TARDIS is, an, well, the last time he came was centuries ago for this planet," I covered quickly, catching Mycroft send me a quick, grateful nod. It was too soon to reveal his identity to the gobsmacked detective.

Sherlock only nodded, but his expression did not change.

In what I would guess was an hour, we reached a small encampment. There were three tents and several tarps set up around the area, but I could see no one.

"Here we are, we'll stay here the night, but first, we must meet with our hosts," Mycroft stated.

"Our hosts?" I queried.

"Jenny? Vastra?" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Doctor?" came the reply of two women slowly emerging from their canvas shelter. One of them was garbed in tight fitting black clothing, the other a long Victorian dress and a black veil covering her face.

"Hello," I greeted shaking each of their hands.

"Why is your face masked?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sherlock, manners," Mycroft admonished.

"It's okay Doctor," the veiled woman insisted, "Curiosity is an enviable trait. I am Madame Vastra," She extended a gloved hand, "Besides, it gets incredibly stuffy under here."

Vastra lifted her veil, exposing her green scaled countenance.

"Oh..." Sherlock opened and closed his mouth like a fish, before passing out.

I just managed to catch his limp body before his hit the muddy ground, but he was heavy for being so thin.

"Here, let me help," the woman who must have been Jenny grabbed his feet and we hauled him towards one of the empty tents.

"What exactly are we doing here?" I grunted, laying him down on a slightly grimy tarp.

Jenny grinned and pushed her ponytail of her shoulder.

"Why we're here to reclaim the Star of course!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Hello and thank everyone for continuing to read this fic, kudos to everyone! **

**I own nothing.**

Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open, his irises immediately latched onto me, pinning me in a piercing glare.

"Ah, he awakes," Vastra remarked needlessly.

"Oh god it's real!" the freshly conscious genius choked out, his words garbled and twisted.

"What? Yes _it's _real, now come to grips young man before I bring in the sedatives!" she exclaimed, offended by my friends insensitivity.

"God, Madame Vastra I'm so, so sorry about him. He prides himself on being a master of logic and really can't handle this right now," I explained apologetically.

"We understand, the brains of men these days are so puny and narrow I can hardly stand it," the green skinned woman chided.

"Oh yes, we have to live with Strax. He's one heck of a half-wit," Jenny commented, pulling a syringe from a nearby box.

"W-w-what are you doing with that?" Sherlock muttered fearfully, as Jenny approached his with the syringe.

"Don't worry, I developed the drug myself with some help from Pasteur, it will help you cope, it eases the activity in your cerebellum and lets you except information much easier, you'll only be out ten minutes," Jenny stated calmly, inserting the syringe into my flatmate's arm and pushing down the plunger.

"Uh-AH! What is that!? I can't think! Oh God…" Sherlock trailed off, grabbing Jenny's wrists, "My brain can't slow down, I need it fast, I need it, I need, I-I need-" and he slumped back into unconsciousness.

"Will he be okay? His brain isn't exactly average," I worried, glancing down at the dozing detective.

"Oh yes, it works fine on basically everyone we've tried it on, non-humans, well, that's a tale for another time," Vastra assured, removing the lacy gloves from her hands.

"Oh good, he really is a genius and he hates it when he can't think straight."

"It really is going to be alright, _though_…" Jenny started, casting me a concerned look.

"_Though,_" I repeated cautiously.

"Has he had a history of, well, did he ever do, was he ever like, addicted to anything?" the alien woman inquired, standing up.

"Er, in Uni he did cocaine, and he has had a recent infatuation with anything nicotine related, but he's been clean for a month or so."

"Then the complications won't be too severe," Jenny confirmed, checking his pulse a last time.

"What complications!?" I demanded.

"The drug reacts negatively to large amounts of illicit substances, but since all remaining traces of cocaine and most of the nicotine has been filtered out, so he will just be a bit loopy upon awakening for about an hour," Vastra explained, pulling Jenny out of the tent along with her.

"Well goodbye then," I grumbled, returning my attention to my friend.

After about five minutes, I checked my watch, knowing that Sherlock should be waking up soon and apparently out of his mind.

Feeling the smallest bit empowered, I stared down at him knowing I wouldn't be scolded or scorned. I took in the sweet Cupid's bow of his lips. The long, thin, graceful turn of his nose. The feathery, silken locks of hair falling over his alabaster skin.

"John?" he croaked, shaking me from my reverie.

"Oh, er, yes Sherlock?"

"Staring, me, why?" he slurred, gray-green eyes rolling back in his head.

"I dunno'," I answered lamely.

"Wha'e'er, can I geh up?" Sherlock attempted to heave himself into a sitting position. When he failed and fell back onto the makeshift cot, he giggled. Sherlock. Holmes. Giggled. Like a freaking _schoolgirl_.

"Apparently not," I remarked, snaking my arm around his waist and heaving him to his feet.

"Whoa there, I'm fragile John. Don' break me," he curled his fingers round my shirt collar.

"I wouldn't dare," I replied, smirking.

"Good, good," he yawned widely, "Too bad Mary gotchya' first."

I rolled my eyes good naturedly.

"Wha' amuses you so my sweet blogger?" the detective queried, effectively making me blush.

"Just déjà vu I guess…" I trailed off, sad that I was indeed going to have to go through this charade again and somehow break it off for my wife.

"Hmm, I do no' ever recall a moment similar to this one shared be'ween us John."

"Well, you wouldn't," I snapped.

"Wha' are you hiding?"

"What? Nothing Sherlock."

"Okaay. John, I, wan' you to answer me one ques'ion 'ruthfully," he breathed, clinging to my bad shoulder for stability.

"What is it mate?"

"Do'ya love me?"

**Yes this one is a bit short. Don't hate me for having a busy schedule. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: CHEESE BEWARE! **

"What!?" I let my hand drop from Sherlock's waist, sending him crashing to the floor of the cot, "Oh, sorry Sherlock."

"Erg..." he groaned, somehow managing to sit up.

"You just kind of surprised me is all," I assured, sitting down across from him, unwilling to attempt letting him stand again.

"Why don' you answer my ques'ion?"

"Well..." I started, unable to think of anything else to say. _Oh dear lord what am I going to do about Mary?_

"Please say yes, 'cuz I really, really, really, _really _wanna' kiss you right now," Sherlock slurred, blinking slowly at some point about an inch above my eyes.

"Umm, well, er, I dunno' Sherlock, I am happily married," I felt horribly stupid trying to make intelligent conversation with a loopy Holmes.

"Oh Jawn, you an' I both know the only reason you sai' yes to 'er, is 'cuz of the baby that isn't even yours," Sherlock reasoned, effectively confusing me.

"What do you mean, the baby isn't mine?"

"Ooh, I forgot, if I tell ya', Mary would shoot me again, in the head his time," he giggled again, feigning being shot in the head.

"What? Sherlock tell me everything."

Sherlock only drug his fingers across his lips and made a locking gesture at the corner of his mouth before 'throwing away the key'.

"My lipz are sealed Jawn, I don' wanna' get shot in he head," he grinned, and laid back down on the cot, "I'm tired, goodnigh' sweet blogger."

He promptly fell asleep again, hopefully to overcome the drunk-like mindset.

"And when you wake up, we'll talk," I mumbled, leaning against the side of the tent, watching him.

-oO0Oo-

Two hours later, Jenny, Vastra, Mycroft and I were all sitting around a campfire eating beans out of tin bowls. The night sky on Clom was unlike anything I could have imagined. There were few stars, but they were in an array of colors.

Seven moons hung in the navy blue sky. Gaseous purple clouds floated across the fantastical display, in complete contrast to the bog-like hell-scape that was the surface of the planet.

"So John, is Sherlock doing well?" Mycroft asked tersely.

"Good, good, he's fine, it's all, fine," I choked out, poking at my beans.

"Is something the matter?" Jenny put her hand on my arm, looking me over worriedly.

"The, er, drug thing, will he, um, will he remember anything he said or did?"

"A strange question no doubt, but yes, he will remember it all," Vastra answered, raising a scaly eyebrow.

"O-okay cool, the, um, the beans are good," I remarked lamely, but hey, it was this or discuss Sherlock's estranged affections. (whether or not they were completely one sided remains t be seen and dealt with)

"Thank you John, it took us a whole three minutes to prepare them," Jenny said lightly, trying ever so hard to bring up the mood.

I barked out a harsh laugh, but I think it only concerned the others even more. _It can't possibly get worse than this_, I though bitterly, knowing full well that it could, and probably would.

And it did.

For mere seconds after I had ceased my dismal musing, Sherlock Holmes in all of his glory emerged gracefully from the canvas tent, having shed his beloved Belstaff.

"Ah, brother mine, I trust your little nap was pleasant?" Mycroft took a dainty bite of his beans.

"Very rejuvenating I must say," Sherlock replied stiffly, keeping his eyes fixed on the campfire.

"Well come on then, have a seat, if you want I can fix you up some beans if you want," Jenny encouraged happily, patting the fold-away chair to her left.

"Thank you Jenny, and yes, I would love some beans if you don't mind, trekking across an alien planet does leave one rather famished," the detective replied in an uncharacteristic show of courtesy.

"How are you coping Mr. Holmes?" Vastra inquired, now sporting a skin tight leather suit to match Jenny's.

"Oh, me? Great actually. Nothing like a good injection and some sleep to get over your troubles," he said a bit wistfully.

I was suddenly struck with the desire to go over and comfort him, but we all know what any attempt to help Sherlock would be met with.

The conversation lapsed into a semi-awkward silence before Jenny came galumphing back, bean tin in tow.

"Here you go, love. Nice and fresh. Now eat up before they get cold," she handed him the beans and patted his shoulder in an almost maternal show of affection.

I couldn't help but grin. Jenny was like Mrs. Hudson in that manner.

"Well John aren't you being awfully quiet?" Mycroft noticed.

"Not much to say," I shrugged, and stuffed another spoonful of beans into my mouth.

The quiet took reign again, amplifying every gurgle of water or clinking of cutlery.

"Tomorrow we will arrive at our first city on Clom, we can't use the TARDIS because the natives, the Abzorbaloffs, have developed technology that can detect the use of unauthorized ships," Vastra explained, "It will take two to three days to reach our final destination, it will take two to three days to get back to the TARDIS, and then the Doctor will take to two of you home, an hour after you left."

We all nodded along with her.

"We have reason the believe that the White-Point Star is in the capital city of this sector on Clom. We are technically unauthorized to be here, so, try not to let anyone see you," Jenny finished, going around and collecting all of our empty bowls.

"This was quite a lovely supper, and I now advise that we all retire to bed," Mycroft stated, standing up and brushing of his pants, "Madame Vastra, you and Jenny have the tent on the far left, right?"

"Yes Doctor, you can have your pick of the others, oh, John Sherlock, I hope you don't mind, you two will have to share a tent, but don't worry, they are rather spacious," Vastra responded, following Jenny of the clean the bowls. Mycroft nodded his thanks and sauntered off to his respective tent.

"Well, I guess we're sharing one then," I looked over at Sherlock, who was pointedly averting his gaze.

"Brilliant deduction that John," he spat, and stomped off to our tent. Sighing, I raced after him.

"Sherlock? What's wrong mate?" I called after him, ducking into the tent.

"You know quite well what is wrong, _mate_, if your memory is by some miracle able to stretch past the immediately important."

"Well sorry. I didn't mean to upset you is all," I growled, laying down on my cot and pulling the scratchy blanket up to my chin.

Silence. Neither of us spoke a word, until Sherlock did.

"I'm sorry too, John. I didn't mean to be so, _forthright_, I'll delete the memory if it pleases you," he whispered.

"No no, don't delete it Sherlock, I, I just, why didn't you tell me before? I'm your best friend, you can always talk to me," I reassured, twisting around on my back and looked at Sherlock, cured up on his own cot.

"I didn't want to complicate things, you were just so happy with Mary, and, I don't know..."

"Ask me Sherlock."

"What?"

"Ask me again. Ask me the question again," I urged, scooting closer to him.

"Why John?"

"Just do it."

"Okay, well, do you love me?"

"Yes Sherlock. More than anything."

**Oh, they're so cute!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Why hello my dear dedicated readers. I am pausing this fic for a little bit while I gather myself for the start of school. Blech.**

**I promise that it will be exactly one week long, and the chapters following that will be twice as long as before. Pinky swear.**

**So sorry about that, but here is like, the first bit of the next chapter:**

-oO0Oo-

The silence that ensued scared me in an indescribable way. Perhaps Mycroft erased Sherlock's feeling when he erased his memory, and his drug-induced loopiness was merrily a shadow of his former affections.

But before my melancholic thought processes got any further, I heard a rustling of fabric, and whispery breaths against the back of my neck.

"Sherlock," I sighed, fighting the urge to turn around and face him.

"John," He murmured, even quieter.

I felt the pressure of my friends gangly appendages against my back, as if seeking permission.

_I give up, _I thought in defeat, twisting my body around to lay on my side. Sherlock stared back at me with comically large eyes. We were so close the tip of his nose brushed against mine.

I reached a tentative arm out and let it rest atop the curve of his waist, holding his there for a few seconds before letting it slide down to the small of his back.

Sherlock started slightly at the touch, but relaxed and curled his own hand around my bicep.

He glanced self-consciously down his nose. I pulled him closer so that we were practically breathing the same air. Sherlock leaned his forehead against mine and slid his hand up to rest at the nape of my neck, running his spidery fingers over the skin.

Some alien creature outside made a low humming noise.

I fell asleep to the sound of the creature and the rhythm of Sherlock's breath.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Why hello, it certainly has been a while. Idk, like a week. **

**I own nothing. Enjoy!**

The silence that ensued scared me in an indescribable way. Perhaps Mycroft erased Sherlock's feeling when he erased his memory, and his drug-induced loopiness was merrily a shadow of his former affections.

But before my melancholic thought processes got any further, I heard a rustling of fabric, and whispery breaths against the back of my neck.

"Sherlock," I sighed, fighting the urge to turn around and face him.

"John," He murmured, even quieter.

I felt the pressure of my friends gangly appendages against my back, as if seeking permission.

_I give up_, I thought in defeat, twisting my body around to lay on my side. Sherlock stared back at me with comically large eyes. We were so close the tip of his nose brushed against mine.

I reached a tentative arm out and let it rest atop the curve of his waist, holding his there for a few seconds before letting it slide down to the small of his back.

Sherlock started slightly at the touch, but relaxed and curled his own hand around my bicep.

He glanced self-consciously down his nose. I pulled him closer so that we were practically breathing the same air. Sherlock leaned his forehead against mine and slid his hand up to rest at the nape of my neck, running his spidery fingers over the skin.

Some alien creature outside made a low humming noise.

I fell asleep to the sound of the creature and the rhythm of Sherlock's breath.

-oO0Oo-

I woke up in the morning to a face-full of sweet smelling hair.

It took me no less than two minutes to fully remember where I was, and why I was there. Upon realizing that the head my face was buried in Sherlock's and not some insipid excuse for a girlfriend, I sneezed.

You heard me. _I sneezed_.

Right into my flatmate's hair. At least he didn't wake up.

Thanking whatever alien deity the Abzorbaloffs worshiped for that, I turned my attentions to cataloging my situation.

We were still facing each other, but Sherlock's arms were now wrapped tightly around my waist, and his forehead resting against my collarbone, and his legs were in a tangled mess with mine at the bottom of the blanket. One of my arms encircled his back in a protective gesture, and the other gripped the back of his neck.

_Hmm, I could get used to waking up like this, _I thought happily, rubbing small circles into his back. Sherlock shifted slightly, and opened his eyes with a lazy flutter.

"G'd mornin' John," he whispered, smiling slightly.

"Good morning Sherlock," I replied, planting a kiss between his eyebrows. Sherlock pretty much purred, and brought up one of his hands pet my hair experimentally.

"It's so fuzzy," he noted, chuckling quietly and continuing to run his fingers through my hair. I smiled at the entire scene and its ridiculousness. You know, Sherlock saying that something was fuzzy, while curled around me, on an alien planet. That is just about as weird as it gets.

"Thanks," I rolled my eyes and grinned. He stretched, reaching one lithe appendage around the back of my head and brushed his lips against the corner of my mouth. All I could do was grin even wider and-

"Everybody up! It's time to- oh, er, sorry boys," Jenny burst through the door of the tent, blushing madly, but then again, so were we. Sherlock and I jumped apart, leaving a six foot space between us.

"Quite alright Jenny," Sherlock assured curtly, folding his long legs into a more discreet position.

"I-I, just wanted to, er, say that we are, well, we're leaving soon and you guys had better get ready," She finished, practically running from the room. The both of us just sat there dumbfounded for a few minutes, before collecting our things, pointedly avoiding the others gaze.

-oO0Oo-

Several thankless hours later we had arrived at the first city on Clom whose name was impossible to pronounce or spell, in complete contrast with the actual planet name (this is ironic because apparently the city and sector names on Raxicoricofallapatorious were quite simple). We were staying at the alien version of a one star motel, but apparently Clom didn't have the FDA.

In short it was gross. And Sherlock and I were trying to distinguish between the giant pit of slime that was the toilet, and the giant pit of slime that was the sink. Whatever the bed was, the floor was at least a nice comforting slab of sandstone. Very relaxing I assure you.

Once we had set out all of that blankets and pillows, and were both sitting atop them, I found that it was (not really) the perfect time to discuss with Sherlock that which had been bothering me since yesterday.

"Sherlock, do you remember when you were all loopy yesterday you mentioned something about the baby not being mine?" I asked gently, as if trying to have a conversation with a deer. Which wasn't too far off judging by how skittish and uncomfortable he looked.

"I really can't talk about this John, I really can't," Sherlock insisted, staring down at the floor.

"And why not?"

"If I tell you that, I will be punished all the same."

"You said you couldn't because Mary would kill you," I tested.

"I can't say John."

"SHERLOCK PLEASE! Please let me help," I exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders. Sherlock sighed heavily and hung his head in defeat.

"When I-I found out that your wife, Mary, was trying to extract information from Magnusson before he died, I thought that even in this time of need she wouldn't go straight to threatening his life as I was witness to," he paused, searching my face, "I realized that Mary had been attempting to get that information for years, and would have tried everything to get it back."

"So…" I urged, keeping my face studiously blank and devoid of all the emotions whirling crazily inside me.

"So after we saved parliament from the bomb, she, er, she slept with Magnusson, and Magnusson's child is growing in your wife," he finished. I had been biting my lips so hard it was bleeding. An intense feeling of betrayal permeated my chest, and I felt my indifferent mask crumble into a sobbing mess.

Sherlock immediately reached out and held me against his chest. I felt a little bad soaking his sinfully tight shirt with salty tears and snot. But he never pulled away or spoke until I had gathered myself.

"W-what did sh-she threaten y-you with when she f-f-figured out you knew?" I choked out, swallowing thickly.

"I informed Mary that I was aware of her infidelity and she said that if I spoke a word she would kill me," Sherlock said with clinical detachment.

"Please Sherlock, I-I know you well enough t-to know that your life does not m-mean that much to you," I said truthfully.

"Yes, fine, she threatened to kill Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, then me. I knew she wouldn't kill you, but it was still enough to convince me to keep quiet."

"Well we can't have her arrested for a threat, and if I divorce her, she'll know," I fretted, wondering frantically what I was going to do.

"I will have to call in a favor with Mycroft; he can have her put away somewhere she won't find us, or have her arrested, or anything!" Sherlock insisted. I just nodded, heavy with the knowledge of my wife's betrayal.

"I really loved her you know," I said quietly.

"She loved you too," he replied bitterly.

"Quite a vicious little triangle we have going here eh?" I laughed humorlessly.

"Quite."

-oO0Oo-

Sherlock and I slept back to back that night. Everyone always warns you about going to bed mad, but I don't think it counts if the person you're mad at and should be sleeping with is on another planet. When those types of sentences started applying, I don't know.

I was so, _so _angry, but at what I couldn't say. That kind of anger, the kind of anger you feel when you find out your lovely wife who shot your little-bit-more than a best friend also cheated on you with the most despicable man that ever lived. And to top it off, your daughter turns out to be his.

So the thought of sleeping, curled up against he-who-is-not-my-wife was a bit too much. But that was just me.

I sighed into the darkness, desperately trying to ignore the pulsing green light emanating from the two different pools of slime. Any wondering I had done about the makeup of that slime had been quickly halted and deleted from my memory with Sherlockian efficiency. Nevertheless, I could still taste bile burning the back of my throat well into night and early morning.

"Sherlock, wake up!" I shook my friend into consciousness, by the shoulder, just to be safe.

"Urgh, Jawn…" he groaned, swatting weakly at my arms.

"Today we are going to reach the capital! Tomorrow we retrieve the diamond and I won't have you sleeping away any of it," I demanded, pulling him to his feet.

"Why are we even here for God's sake!"

"Apparently Mycroft wanted your help in decoding something or other the Master left him, he, Jenny and Vastra deduced it must be in he capital, but that was just about it," I explained, stuffing our meager belongings into the canvas rucksack.

"Master?"

"Oh... I wasn't supposed to tell you that..." I trailed off. Cue mental facepalm.

"Who is the Master? Have you met him?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I have met him, but only briefly and it was a very unpleasant experience," I answered vaguely. Hoping beyond hope he would just drop the subject.

"What was he like? Is he smart?"

"He is cocky and a complete smarmy wanker. And yes, he is smart, whip smart, Mycroft smart."

"What does he look like?" Sherlock pressed, furrowing his brow.

"Um, er, tall... and pale, and, uh, darkish hair," I sputtered, wringing my hands nervously.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed suspiciously, "Well we had better get going, I don't want to be late."

"O-okay," I stammered, following quickly behind.

-oO0Oo-

Some small talk was made during our hike over the countless hills that had suddenly sprung up from the previously flat surface of Clom. But this was the only way you could go to avoid the attentions of the natives. And avoiding their attentions was paramount.

"So, Mycroft," I started, "I was wondering, what is that indecipherable clue this Master fellow left you puzzling over?"

"Soon you shall know," he replied flatly.

"Gee thanks, Yoda," I muttered, rubbing my eyes for the seventh time in the past minute.

"Like, how soon?" Sherlock chimed in, taking a quick brake from his petulant silence.

"The Doctor said soon now quit your blathering!" Vastra snapped, nearly dropping her bag in annoyance.

"Calm down dear, we have dragged them halfway across another planet with telling them what they're doing here," Jenny soothed, hugging the alien's arm.

"Fine, fine. Men just annoy he hell out of me, at least the Doctor has his manners," Vastra agreed.

"Why do you keep calling him the Doctor? I thought his name is Mycroft, and even I'm not that bad with names to mix up the two," Sherlock pointed out.

Jenny and Vastra both opened their mouths to answer, but were quickly cut off by the Timelord himself.

"I am called the Doctor by my otherworldly or other-timely friends because I used to do quite a bit of world saving and universe rescuing," Mycroft answered swiftly and firmly.

Sherlock grunted, but had enough sense to stay his mouth.

-oO0Oo-

The capital city of Clom had no distinguishable inn or hotel, so we were stuck sleeping in a discreet, and strangely comforting alleyway. Apparently Clom did not suffer from the pains of homelessness or vandals, as it was completely empty, and eerily clean.

"Well, do we get to see our clue now?" Sherlock demanded impatiently. Mycroft sighed and pulled a small notebook from the inside of his jacket. He skimmed through the pages before handing it to Sherlock.

"Well, this is most interesting," he mumbled.

"Let me see!" I snatched the booklet from his hands and read the small poem/rhyme.

_**Good tidings ye who came this far**_

_**For pristine coats this trek would mar**_

_**On a planet ruled by messy bog  
**_

_**The capital would clear such fog**_

_**But deep inside, nine metres long**_

_**You shall find your musings wrong**_

"Well if this isn't insanely tacky and overdone I don't know what is," I muttered.

"You did say the Master was an arrogant smarmy wanker," Sherlock grinned. Mycroft too smiled at this, and took his book back.

"He always did have a flair for the dramatics," the Timelord observed.

You could practically see the gears turning in Sherlock's head as he picked apart every aspect of the little rhyme.

"Have you got anything?" Jenny asked quietly.

"This entire trip has been for naught."

**I spent waaaaaaay to much time writing that poem thing. I am sorry about any cheesiness. I am not much of writer to be honest.  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Here we are again. Time for the Fifteenth Chapter. I need a life. Just kidding, this is a totally legitimate pastime...right? **

**I own nothing.**

"Whadaya' mean 'all for naught'?" I exclaimed, ever so slightly miffed that this hellish journey was meaningless.

"Yes Sherlock, we are all anxiously awaiting your explanation," Mycroft agreed, giving me a side-long glance.

"This line, 'Deep inside, nine metres long', followed by the line 'You shall find your musings wrong', is indicative of something I don't think any of you will like," Sherlock said ambiguously.

"Okay, lovely, now do you mind doing perhaps a tad more explaining?" Vastra rushed.

"It involves tracking the Master back down," he tested, searching everyone's face.

"Oh, god," I sighed as realization hit, "We're going to have to do it again!?" I whined, looking over to find Mycroft making a face that described my own feelings exactly. Sherlock stared at the both of us strangely.

"Nothing Sherlock, do continue," Mycroft waved his hand.

"Anyway, I believe that the Master has, well, swallowed the star."

"What!? Why!?" Jenny asked.

"Well," Sherlock started, "Deep inside, nine metres long, it sounds like his large intestine to me."

"Okay then," Vastra clapped her hands, "We have some thinking to do."

-oO0Oo-

Two hours later, all five of us were pacing down and back the length of the alley, all of us focused heavily on the task at hand. Vastra and Jenny were muttering quietly to themselves and each other whenever they paused their walking, Sherlock was poking at his stomach experimentally tripping over the bags every now and then; Mycroft was staring down at his feet as they beat the strange, smooth pavement, and I was tugging at the edge of my soiled jumper.

"If the star is as large as you say it is Mycroft, it would remain in the Master's body at least a month, when do you think he could have swallowed it?" Sherlock inquired, standing completely still.

"Several days ago, when I first spoke with him, he was giving up nothing, but halfway through the same conversation he admitted he did know something, there was a time in which neither John nor I were watching him," the Timelord supplied.

"So, he had the star with him, hiding it, perhaps in a pocket or his palm, those places were too obvious and he didn't feel safe giving out hints, so when the two of you aren't watching, he swallows it, knows you'll never guess that, becomes arrogant smarmy wanker," Sherlock finished, gazing up at what he thought was his brother for approval.

"No, no, no, he couldn't have had the star before the conversation, it is completely impossible," Mycroft dismissed. I nodded to validate his claim.

"How can you be so sure?" the detective pressed, clearly not convinced.

"We, er, do you think we should tell him?" I asked, tired of the secret business.

"Very well, do what you wish John," Mycroft relented, waving Jenny and Vastra over to our huddle.

"Tell me what? Does it concern the Master? How so?" Sherlock gushed, eager to be on the receiving end of information that would be vital to his investigation.

"Yes it does concern the Master, because," I paused anxiously, "You are the Master."

"What!?" Sherlock looked at me as if I was absolutely bonkers. I just gave a sage nod in affirmation.

"You are all mad. Totally completely and utterly stark raving mad," he accused.

"Sherlock, I trapped your consciousness as the Master inside of a watch because you were trying to take over the world, I had to let you out in order to find the White-Point Star," Mycroft summed up. Sherlock's face was blanker than I had ever seen it. This was not going to over well.

-oO0Oo-

After what felt like, and probably was, hours, the alley was silent. No one was talking about the space-time continuum or arguing the existence of extra-terrestrial life. Mycroft was silent, Jenny was silent, I was silent, Sherlock was almost silent. Save for the quick, shallow breaths the detective was heaving a an unnatural rate, it was silent.

And it scared the crap out of me.

"So, my entire life, was a lie?" Sherlock asked timidly.

"Oh, god Sherlock please don't go into some sort of existential crisis right now! At least don't use such an overworked and abused phrase," Mycroft chastised.

"Mycroft," I warned, "We did just tell him he is an alien."

"He was an alien, he is perfectly human now!" Mycroft bellowed, frustrated by his so-called brother's lack of compliance.

"Just, be a bit more, not scream-y," I advised, sending a concerned glance Sherlock's way.

"So, the White-Point Star is in my intestinal tract?" he muttered quietly, rubbing his stomach.

"It would seem so," I agreed, "I can't believe I went through this entire journey just to find out that my flatmate ate a condensed bit of carbon that sparkles."

Said flatmate only snorted in response.

"The only question that remains is when did the Master consume the star?" Jenny rubbed at her temples.

"Maybe in the flat, he was bluffing about knowing where it was, and later, when I was bringing him back to the Diogenes Club he acquired it and swallowed it," Mycroft theorized loosening his god-awful tie.

"Unlikely," Sherlock stated, much to everyone's surprise, "I doubt that you of all people wouldn't notice me-er, him thieving such a precious stone and then proceeding to eat it."

"What does it matter how he got the star we just need it now and we know where it is," Vastra cut to the point, "The Cybermen will be on us soon and we need to dispose of it."

"You're right, but we do not have the tools to remove the star at hand," I pointed out, before adding, perhaps a bit quieter, "Why can't we just let it, complete its course?"

Even Sherlock blushed a bit at that.

"Please John, the Cybermen have already locked onto the star's location and they are not a patient folk, their methods of acquiring it will not be so eloquent. And, the diamond is the very definition of of untainted power, if it stays in his system for long, the situation would dire," Mycroft reminded.

"Please do not tell me that you are going to have John cut open my abdomen and retrieve a diamond from my large intestine," Sherlock deadpanned, but shot Mycroft a worried look.

"I'm afraid so," I confirmed, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"It seems a bit, extreme," the detective sputtered, looking strangely vulnerable.

"Would you rather have your boyfriend cut you up with a sterile knife and antiseptic, have a rust covered cyborg pull your organs out with its bare hands, or let it burn you insides to a crisp also resulting in your untimely death?" Vastra said.

"Did I ask for nutshelling? No," Sherlock whined, "I am just very adverse to the idea that someone is going to slice up my intestines to get at some sparkly chunk of carbon as John put it!"

"Not his boyfriend," I mumbled halfheartedly.

"Listen Sherlock," Jenny spoke soothingly, "It's do or die, if we don't remove the star soon and destroy it, the Cybermen will use their own means to obtain it, and, well, you'll die anyway if we don't," She finished awkwardly.

"I have to agree," Mycroft interjected, "The Cybermen have been hot on our trail the entire time, I thought it was just because they knew we were after it, but they seem to have developed the technology to detect its presence and this worries me greatly."

"Well if they're so close then how are we supposed to find a sterile area and professional equipment in time?" Sherlock snapped, "I for one am not a fan of being lobotomized in an alien alleyway with the most sterile thing being the goddamn bean tin!"

"We'll sort something out, don't worry," I tried to reassure him but found my own voice wavering.

"How, pray tell?" my flatmate demanded, "Because ideas would be really great right now. What are you even going to do with the star once you've retrieved it? It's a diamond and hiding it probably won't work."

Mycroft pulled a small black rectangle about the size of a remote from his waistcoat. There was a single indentation in its center, marked by a small glowing power sign.

"I nicked this a while back, I wasn't sure what I was going to use it for, but it has found its purpose now," he looked at it with a kind of distaste, "It tears a hole in the fabric of this universe, if we throw the star into the hole, it will live an eternity between dimensions, which is good since you can't move through that like you used to."

"So you press the button on that thing and you can throw away anything and no one can ever get it out?" I asked, fascinated.

"Pretty much," Mycroft nodded, "But I plan to throw this into their as well, it could become dangerous if such a device were to fall into the wrong hands."

"That makes sense," Vastra said, "Though we are getting a bit off topic, what are we going to do about Sherlock?"

"The Abzorbaloffs have little need for surgery or hospitals of any kind, they receive all the nourishment they need from the people they absorb, but occasionally the people they do _take in_ are suffering from a terminal illness and it does transfer, so the physical aspect of that person is cut out, but the technology is crude and it if oftentimes unsuccessful," Jenny explained, as if reading from an encyclopedia.

"We just need the tools and the areas, not the surgeons, are they at least sterile?" I queried.

"Like I said, few Abzorbaloffs are in need of treatment, as absorbing the terminally ill is a desperate mans practice, so even if they do become sick they are oftentimes unable to pay for the services," the small brunette continued, "_So_, the Abzorbaloffs are by nature not a very tidy race, but their surgical appliances are likely to be relatively clean as a result of their disuse. They will also be similar to ours as a result of the planets proximity and the Abzorbaloffs own inability to come up with their own original technology."

"All I got from that was that we can use them," I smiled; glad to have finally made some progress, "Well, what are we waiting for?"

-oO0Oo-

It took us an hour to find the hospital-like building. Without the TARDIS, we couldn't read what any of the signs all around the city said, not to mention the fact that we couldn't let ourselves be seen by the strange and flabby natives.

Luckily though, Mycroft had a rudimentary knowledge of the language and was able to finally direct us towards a small, quaint little structure cowering in the shadow of a nearby skyscraper.

"You see, in the language of this sector, the root word _stigvi_ means heal, and the root word _tahngr _means place," Mycroft explained, "So _Stigvtahngare_ is their word for healing-place, or hospital. Not that much healing goes on here."

"As fascinating as that it is, we really need to get in there, do you think anyone's home?" Vastra urged, surveying our destination.

"Unlikely, the lights are out and there is no, er, well, no _screaming_," the Timelord said bitterly.

"Why would there be screaming? Don't they have a form of procaine!?" Sherlock fretted. He was already horribly uneasy about the entire ordeal, and the thought of having his bowels butchered fully conscious without painkiller couldn't be a helpful thought.

"Of course they have a numbing agent, the patients aren't the ones screaming, it's the people being removed," an angry look flitted across Mycroft's face before settling back into its usual cool indifference.

"What about security? At least these things keep the place locked up?" I brought up, craning my neck to get a good look at the entrance.

"Yes, there is security but is light and easily surpassed," he pulled an intricately carved metal rod from pocket, "This should to the trick."

**Not really a cliffhanger, but I was feeling nice today sooo, until next time!**


End file.
